The Council at Rivendell
by LionsandDragons
Summary: A friendship is created and hope kindled in a courtyard in Rivendell. A/L Slash PG-13 Ficlet 1st LOTR fic


Title: **The Council at Rivendell**

Author: **silver_slashes**

Rating: PG-13

Paring(s): Aragorn/Legolas, slight Aragorn/Arwen

Warnings: Angst, schmoop, slash, crack, murdering of the elvish language

Summary: Just a little scene I added on to a movie cannon scene in The Fellowship of the Ring

Aragorn watched the rest of the delegates arrive into The House of Elrond- first the dwarves, more elves, men from the kingdoms of Middle Earth. His gaze swept the courtyard as the riders descended from their mounts, as restless as their horses and looking around them as if they expected to see the ring, or even Sauron himself standing among the palace arches.

He didn't blame them for their guarded mistrust and obvious unease. He felt it also, the growing darkness that he could put no words to but made him grip the hilt of his sword tighter. Though he was looking down onto a sun-lit courtyard in the heart of Rivendell, his heart felt heavy. Even the light of the elves couldn't combat the evil that they all felt edging closer.

Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, looked up as if he could sense Aragorn's eyes on him but he couldn't see the ranger from where he stood behind a white pillar on the second story. He turned suddenly away to face the elvish ambassador who would show him to his quarters. Aragorn shifted his gaze to the party of fair-haired elves who had ridden in, their leader a slight blond elf whose tense shoulders betrayed his calm exterior.

He appeared still young though Aragorn knew well how deceiving elvish age could be. He had a bow and quiver slung across his back in obvious testament to his weapon of choice. The blond elf, whom Aragorn remembered from his travels, also looked ill at ease. Aragorn watched as Legolas's gaze swept the façade of the house that faced the courtyard. Where Boromir's eyes had simply passed over, this elf's eyes lingered as if he could see Aragorn where he stood watching the new arrivals. His gaze was unsettling to Aragorn and he turned quickly away, retreating further into the dwelling.

He meant to remain within his rooms, yet as darkness fell he found himself near the shards of Narsil. Only here, in the presence of the proof that failure ran through his veins, could he give voice to the fear his own heritage bred in his heart. Here he could see the paintings of Sauron's supposed defeat. Here he could touch the shards of the sword that had vanquished great evil, only for the owner of that sword to give into it. What if Isildur's weakness poisoned Aragorn's blood as well?

To embrace his inheritance was to take upon himself a great responsibility and a great power. Men who were given power often wanted more, which led to corruption, which led to darkness. Aragorn sat on one of the comfortable benches in the corridor a book in his lap, his eyes fixed upon the gleaming blade that stood for everything he despised within himself. Why had the elves kept the shards of the sword? To remember? To regret?

He turned his eyes away from the blade. He was no king. He did not wish to be king. Aragorn had finally managed to focus on the text he was reading when he heard footsteps echoing on the stone walls around him. Someone was wondering the halls of the great house tonight, heading this way. Boromir appeared from around a corner. He did not see Aragorn at first, merely stood admiring the paintings. The heir to the stewardship of Gondor gazed at the images of the past with the air of someone who saw such things as history, not as fate.

He set the books back onto his lap and regarded Boromir with a keen eye. He knew, he feared, how weak willed the hearts of men could be. Would Boromir wish the ring for himself or would he see the wisdom in destroying it? The ring was about power- taking it, having it, keeping it, wielding it. The illusion of power, the promise of it, could make even the wise man foolish. Saruman had already fallen to such illusions and promises. For these reasons, and many others, Aragorn pretended he couldn't hear the ring whispering his name every time he got close to its inviting, golden glow.

Aragorn stared calmly back when Boromir's attention finally fell to him. He did not know who Aragorn was; if he knew, he wouldn't be nearly so congenial. The two exchanged words and Boromir was drawn to Narsil where it lay in pieces on the alter the elves had created for it. Aragorn watched him pick up the blade reverently and wondered how this man fought. He was certainly tall and broad, had the displayed strength of a fighter.

He watched as Boromir cut himself on the blade, wincing before re-placing the hilt of the sword carelessly enough that it clattered to the floor. Instead of picking it up he left it on the ground and walked away. The heir to the throne of Gondor sat looking after the retreating form of the Steward of Gondor's Heir long after the broken shard of the sword had clattered to the ground.

He wondered if Boromir would be willing to fight by his side if he knew who Aragorn really was. He wondered if a mortal man's lifespan, even one who lived longer than most, was enough time for Aragorn to rewrite the mistakes of his ancestors. If only he were an elf. For whom but an immortal creature had enough time to see victory give way to defeat, to turn defeat into victory?

He moved to retrieve the fallen part of the sword, picking it up and placing it back with the other broken pieces. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a flash of gold, the moon spilling in from the open spaces in the roof to reflect off the hair of the elf approaching him. Speaking of immortal creatures- Aragorn regarded Legolas as he came to stand before him. He still was unsure how old the elf truly was, though he guessed thousands of years.

"The fate of the ancestor is not always the destiny of the heir, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur."

"Seere, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of Thranduil."

Legolas smiled, "this sword was meant for you to wield, it could be re-forged by the elves," he reached his hand out to touch the sword but he let his hand linger over the old metal, "in your hands this sword could be great again, as it once was before its owner fell to darkness."

Aragorn sighed, looking back down the hall that Boromir had disappeared down, "it is not that simple Legolas. The darkness calls…"

Legolas gave Aragorn as sharp look, "the darkness calls to all of us…"

"And yet all men think its hissing voice must ring the loudest in their own ears," Aragorn turned away staring at the wall opposite the pieces of the great sword.

He was met by the mural on the wall depicting the moment of Isildur's triumph. Even painted on stone the image of the ring seemed to gleam in the moonlight, calling to him. Nowhere in Rivendell could Aragorn escape the reminder of his bloodline. Except, when he was with her.

He looked down at the glimmer of silver that shone against his chest. Legolas was silent behind him for the moment but Aragorn was too wary to be grateful. When elves grew silent it meant they were thinking and that, Aragorn had learned, was never good.

Finally Legolas spoke, "both you and her father seek to do what is best for her. Yet, neither of you have asked Arwen what she wants."

Aragorn looked over his shoulder but Legolas was not looking at him, rather the elf was looking up towards the moon where he leaned against one of the alter pillars.

Aragorn was silent and planning on staying that way but, something within him moved him to speak, "I would not have her give up who she is for me."

Legolas still did not take his eyes from the stars, "and what if who she is, is who she is with you?"

Aragorn didn't even know what that meant. Curse elves and their answers that were actually questions. He wanted to go back to reading his book alone, quietly, but Legolas seemed content to stare at the stars all night. Aragorn found it hard to leave his presence though the elf had stopped speaking.

Aragorn finally decided to leave; turning he heard Legolas speak again; "you and I are not strangers Aragorn."

Aragorn turned back around with a curse, "we are not friends either."

The elf turned his piercing blue gaze on Aragorn, "not all who cross paths are either enemies or friends, but those who travel together cannot part without becoming one or the other."

Aragorn did not like riddles, especially from elves. He wanted to yell at Legolas but now was not the time to make enemies. He returned to stand before the elf.

He did not raise his voice but dropped it into a harsh whisper, "do not try the patience of men for its lifespan is far shorter than that of their anger."

Legolas seemed unfazed by Aragorn's closeness, a smile played about his lips, "I have waited hundreds of years for peace and vitality to return to the lands of Middle Earth. Now it seems that even the hope of the elves, the destiny of us all, remains in the ability of the races to come together."

Aragorn reached up to grip Legolas's shoulder though he didn't know why, "I still have hope that it is possible."

Legolas narrowed his eyes, "yet you keep none of that hope alive for yourself."

It wasn't a question and though Aragorn was tired he answered any way, "hope over one's life leads to foolishness over one's ability and someone like me cannot afford foolishness."

Even when Legolas's expression did not change Aragorn sensed sadness from him before a resoluteness settled over his features, "then I shall have hope for you."

Aragorn leaned in and pressed his lips over the elf's. He felt a shiver, like a jolt of lighting streaking across the sky and making energy hum along his skin. His breath caught in his throat and he stepped back.

He expected Legolas to leave, to attack him, to yell perhaps, but the elf merely followed Aragorn as he stepped away, silent in his pursuit until Aragorn was pressed against the opposite pillar. He thought that maybe he should want to leave. He had a fleeting moment of panic that he was dishonoring Arwen. But being close to Legolas didn't feel wrong, just different. Aragorn tensed as the elf pressed against him but he didn't move away.

Aragorn took a deep breath, quietly exhaling as his skin prickled. Legolas was simply looking at him with those knowing blue eyes. He could feel the slender frame of the elf pressed against his own. The frailty was deceiving. He knew only too well the strength and agility that lay beneath the lithe exterior. Could Legolas feel Aragorn's own strength beneath his thin tunic? What did he find so fascinating about Aragorn that he felt the need to stare, to be pressed this close?

The tension was building in his neck, spreading down his back. Aragorn had never been excellent at standing still or at being the center of someone's attention. The elf gave him no room to move and though the elf was shorter than he by a few inches Aragorn got the feeling he wasn't moving until Legolas was willing to step away.

Apparently that was not his intention. Aragorn closed his eyes as the elf began to lean in closer his face only a breath away from Aragorn's own. He felt lips, soft and gentle but pressing firmly over his own. Unlike the kiss Aragorn has spontaneously bestowed, this kiss was filled with purpose and meaning. He opened his mouth as Legolas tilted his head and pushed against him, willing Aragorn to respond. He felt nimble fingers move up his shoulder to grip his hair and his scalp tingled where the pads of the elf's fingers touched.

His skin felt warm and somewhere deep in his chest was a pleasant burning that grew as he allowed Legolas to wrap himself around Aragorn's frame. His own hands came up to grip the elf's slim hips and he pulled forward until their bodies were truly flush, chests and hips and thighs meeting through the veil of their clothing.

Aragorn slipped his tongue into Legolas's mouth experimentally, flicking the tip ever so lightly again the roof of his mouth. Legolas responded, chasing Aragorn's tongue and sliding his own along it as they explored each other.

Soft pants and groans soon filled the courtyard and Aragorn finally broke away, filling his lungs with needed air. He buried his nose in Legolas's pale hair and inhaled the scent of the wind as it moved through the woods. He felt the grip on his hair loosen and he removed his hands from the elf's hips as they stepped apart.

Aragorn smiled, a genuine smile, the first of the night.

Legolas looked a bit smug at the smile, but he returned it with one of his own.

He laid his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, "hebo estel, Aragorn, mellon nin."

Aragorn laughed and bowed his head slightly to the elf, "and so we are. Calo anor na ven, mellon nin."

He watched as Legolas strode down the steps of the alter and disappeared down the hall. He looked down at the fragments of the sword to his left. He looked away back towards the murals surrounding him and then up at the stars winking down at him. Could he be different than the men in those pictures?

"Maybe," he breathed.

Estel- hope

Hebo estel- have hope

Calo anor na ven- may the sun shine on your road

Mellon nin- my friend


End file.
